


White

by Sophie_Of_Tarth



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Jaime/Brienne Appreciation Week
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-10
Updated: 2015-12-10
Packaged: 2018-04-25 18:51:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4972360
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sophie_Of_Tarth/pseuds/Sophie_Of_Tarth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brienne of Tarth has unfinished business in the north...</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Once more I have to thank the amazing [stayseated](http://archiveofourown.org/users/stayseated/pseuds/stayseated), whose phenomenal beta reading-skills of wonder made this readable in record time.  
> I didn't want to miss the JBWeek deadline for posting it up!!

           Brienne sat hunched over her food —- it was modest fare. Meat, bread. Her mouth watered even as she held back a shudder of distaste as to where the meat might have come from. She had heard men slaughtering horses on her way into camp, those that were lame or injured were not suffered long on a march into battle. Their loyal service was turned into one last sacrifice for their royal owner.

           Stannis did his best to observe at least the social niceties of a full royal court. Even in what felt like the middle of winter, in the middle of nowhere. 

           Well, en route to a siege anyway. It had taken a hard ride north to catch up with Stannis Baratheon as he marched towards Winterfell, and a reckoning with the now Warden of the North, Roose Bolton. Brienne had had previous encounters with both men, and her opinions on either man were better not heard.

Lady Selyse sat on Stannis’ right, her pale face watching the assembled Stormland knights and nobles, sitting cheek by jowl with sellswords and self-made men within the hall of an abandoned keep. The wind was howling roughly outside, barely audible above the noise of the assembled diners and the muted sound of a mournful flute and drum playing as they ate.

          On the left of Stannis sat the red witch. Pale, beautiful, dressed from head to foot in the colour of her name. She was also scanning the throng — watching, studying, assessing.

 _Deciding who might be the next one to burn,_ thought Brienne as she tore off a piece of freshly baked bread from the loaf before her with still-cold fingers, stuffing a piece of horsemeat in between to make a mouthful she could chew, even with her sore cheek.

          Her stomach rumbled noisily at the prospect of the food to come.

“Lady Brienne!” tittered one of the ladies to her left in response to the sound, “a lady is never hungry.”

Brienne scowled at her food and ignored her.

Instead she leant forward and seized the pitcher of water set just beyond her grasp, carefully lifting it over her food so she could fill her empty metal goblet, the long sleeve of her dress just catching the meat on her plate enough to flick it onto the floor.

         Two hounds fell on it with snarling delight, fighting over the now-dirty piece of flesh as Brienne stared at the sleeve with disgust.

         The dress that the Lady Selyse had insisted she wear was a light blue washed so pale, it was almost pure white. Long bell shaped sleeves dragged through everything she attempted to touch, and Brienne could only think it had been made for a very short, stout female originally. A woman with stick-like arms and the body of a small barrel, as it was a most uncomfortable fit. The fitted upper arms gripped her muscular build like the casing on lead piping, the sleeves falling away to showcase her scarred manly forearms with their workmanlike tendons and cut skin. Not an attractive sight. The bodice of the gown gaped slightly as Brienne moved, despite the best efforts of a passing maidservant to lace it as tightly as she possibly could. Brienne was all too aware of an uncomfortable draft that took turns to either trickle down her spine or waft between her meagre breasts. 

         But the Lady Selyse had been adamant. 

         “No lady of my court wears breeches to dine,” Lady Selyse had said. “No vassal of my husband would bear his daughter — his maiden daughter at that — and a daughter of the Stormlands — to be allowed to wear a man’s clothes to dinner. There are several gowns belonging to my ladies that you can choose from. If you wish to remain in this keep, then you must dress appropriately and do so immediately.” 

         Lady Selyse had warmed quickly to her theme. “And you will sit at the lower table with the unwed maids, Lady Brienne. As is right. I see no reason for us to make more of you simply because you choose to make a fool of yourself in men’s garb.”

         Flushing with humiliation and anger, Brienne had had to bite her tongue to keep herself from saying what she felt. Brienne didn’t like to point out she was not a member of Lady Selyse’s household, and although she was a daughter of the Stormlands and the Maid of Tarth, Brienne had no interest in proving her worth to either Stannis Baratheon or his lady wife. Whilst  Stannis was supposedly her liege lord, Brienne knew that the Lady Selyse would hardly be insisting that the ugly heir of Tarth wear a dress and eat in their company if she ever found out the real reason for Brienne being in their midst.

         The Maid of Tarth had come this far north to avenge the death of Renly Baratheon. To kill his elder brother Stannis, the man who had murdered Brienne’s king. It was Stannis who had used blood magic to kill Renly, invoking a smoke spirit to stab his younger brother to death even as Brienne had looked on, helpless. 

 _And I’ll never forgive him for it,_ she thought to herself, _ever._

Brienne returned to pouring her water, watching carefully to ensure the liquid didn’t breach the top.

She felt a movement of air behind her that resulted in a shot of cold trickling down the back of her bodice once more.

         The maid to her left burst into a nervous giggle and then fell quiet as Brienne lifted the chilled metal goblet to her lips. The rest of the diners around her followed suit, until it was possible one could hear a pin drop. 

Silence — Brienne was suddenly surrounded by it. 

         It was the kind of stillness that falls when a cat walks into a garden previously full of twittering birdsong. A silence that held such a deathly hush that Brienne knew it could mean only one thing. 

 _The Kingslayer._  

        Brienne caught the merest whiff of rosemary and lemon, underwritten by the unmistakeable smell of him.

        Gods, there had been times on the road through the Riverlands and en route to Harrenhal when they’d both been mired in the shit, vomit, and the putrid stench of each other. At the time Brienne had genuinely thought that she would never be free of the smell of the man.

It turned out she had been right, but not quite in the way she had expected.

       “Brienne?” His breath lifted the wispy hair by her ear, the straw-like strands she had tucked firmly away dislodged by his words. Jaime was so close as he spoke, Brienne realised he must have bent down to put his mouth close to her head, as he went on to say, “Is that you? Truly? Do you know that you no longer look like my sworn sword?”

       She didn’t see his smile, but she could feel it. The warmth from his mouth as his teeth were exposed so close to her skin told her of his amusement.  “It would help,” she finally hissed grumpily, “if you said nothing at all. Ser. My lord. And I am not —”

“You’re quite right, Lady Brienne,” he murmured softly. “And did you know that standing here, I can see both your —”

  
“Ser Jaime!” a voice called out across the noisy keep. “Come. There is a seat for you here at the high table as an honoured guest.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was so tired when I posted this that I forgot to say thanks... thanks to the phenomenal stayseated for being patient enough to deal with my temperamental fits of dramatic angst when penning my fic. She is a twinkling star!!

Jaime shifted grumpily to one side so that his goblet could be refilled, all the while watching the Maid of Tarth sit between two tittering girls across the room. He was trying to keep it a discreet study, peering from between the locks of his hair that had fallen over his face as he moved to accommodate the boy with the ale jug.

“Selwyn Tarth’s daughter,” the man to his right said, grunting as he followed the line of Jaime’s stare.

Jaime raised his brows and nodded briefly in acknowledgement at the man’s words. Nothing much else seemed either necessary or expected.

“Worth an island … or was.” The older man moved in his seat, leaning towards Jaime as if sharing a confidence. “Until the sellswords took it.” He scrubbed at his beard thoughtfully before taking a swig of his own drink.

“Has anyone heard word of Lord Selwyn?” Jaime asked politely.

“No.” The man pulled a face and shook his head. “Personally I can’t see the Evenstar surrendering shit to sellswords.” Jaime nodded in agreement because it seemed like the right thing to do as his companion took another hearty draught of ale and then went on to say, “So she’s alone. Brother and sister dead … the heir of bloody Tarth.”

Jaime swept the hair from his face so he could better watch Brienne, now thunderously scowling at a young buck who had pushed past her by elbowing her squarely in the back just as she attempted to take a sip of water from a metal cup. Following her gaze to where the young lordling attempted to wrest the door open, no doubt on his way to take a drunken piss against what passed for a tree hereabouts, Jaime squashed his amused reaction to the menacing expression on her face, and turned back to his erstwhile drinking companion who had started to talk once more.

“Betrothed three times.” The man grunted in disgust. “A wonder she was betrothed even once. What were the gods thinking when they made such a woman?”

“I think I know what the warrior might have been thinking.” Jaime grinned into his ale as he sipped at the cool, slightly sour liquid and winced. Memories of their fight, his surprise at Brienne’s sword skills and the cut to her thigh rising unbidden to his mind.

“Why would the warrior make such a one to fight as her?” His companion scoffed.

Jaime took a long moment to study his eating companion more closely. He was a broad, raw built man. Old, older than Jaime, and probably a veteran of a few battles with Stannis but not a man Jaime recognised. Knowing Stannis and his habit of elevating the most loyal of his men at arms, Jaime was not surprised that the man next to him was unfamiliar.

“No good to fight or fuck,” the man finally asserted.

As he recoiled at the man’s words, what did surprise Jaime was that the old warrior clearly had little or no idea who he was.

“I would disagree.” Jaime sighed and turned to look him straight in the eye. “Quite strongly.”

The face turned to his was blank with astonishment at his words, its mouth going slacker still as Jaime then lifted his right hand from underneath the table and rested it awkwardly next to his plate.

Eyes round, his dining companion looked from golden hand to Jaime’s face as if he could not quite believe it.

“It’s quite a monstrosity, isn’t it? But my sister would insist.” He sighed once more. “The Maid of Tarth fought me when I had two good hands, and she beat me. She has looks enough to make milk sour, but she fucks sweetly enough.” Jaime grinned suddenly. “If one has guts enough to get her braies off her.”

The man looked from Brienne to Jaime and back again before shoving his chair back from the table with such speed it looked like he might overturn it.

“Ser — Ser Jaime, I can only —”

“Apologise?”

“Humbly — most humbly apologize.” With that, he used the table to haul himself out of his seat so violently that Jaime’s goblet almost overturned. Jaime deftly caught the drinking vessel with his left hand. Jaime could not resisting glancing over at Brienne.

Brienne was watching him, frowning at his table companion’s hasty exit. Jaime simply shrugged, giving her an innocent look.

“Maybe he’s got the shits?” he mouthed at her, suppressing yet another grin as Brienne pursed her lips disbelievingly and turned away, clearly fed up.

At that point, Jaime decided he had had enough too. He was bored with this. Bored of sitting at a table full of people puffed up with their own consequence while an army was sitting outside, freezing in the bitter northern wind. He was utterly done with sitting in this draughty hall, unable to talk to the one person he felt might have anything interesting to say about his current situation.

Jaime stood abruptly, nodding briefly at Stannis as he went to leave.

“Ser Jaime?” The maudling sound of the pipe and drum sounded into nothing as the musicians ceased playing, and as the diners finally stopped talking. The hall finally fell silent.

“You’ll forgive me your Grace, but I fear it is time for us to retire.”

Stannis blinked hard and even Lady Selyse looked rather perplexed at his bald statement.

“Us?” he queried.

Jaime nodded in Brienne’s direction where she was watching him, nonplussed. “My … bodyguard and I. If Brienne does not get a good night’s sleep, her temper in the morning can be most trying. I’m sure you understand.”

The entire hall gasped in shock at his words. Brienne was no exception. Crimson from head to toe, she glared at him. Ignoring them all, Jaime stood up straight and raised his hand imperiously in Brienne’s direction. “Come Brienne. We shall retire early, all the better to be on our way at first light.”

If Stannis or his wife were about to say anything, those words certainly took the winds from their sails. As Jaime moved, Brienne followed him quickly, unwilling to find out what gossip would be unleashed in their wake.

“Where are we going?” she hissed at his retreating back.

He turned suddenly to open a door to a small room off the corridor to the hall. Plain and functional, it boasted three basic mattresses, Pod, and a modest fire of sorts, flickering in the grate.

“Have you gone mad?” she asked.

“Most likely,” he muttered as he closed the door gently behind him. “But I could stand it no longer. There are limits to my patience.” Jaime cast his eye over the mattresses before giving one a sharp kick. “Being civil can be hard work and being polite in the face of such worthy company is beyond even my skills.” He sat down on on one of the mattresses and stretched out full length, feeling decidedly disgruntled.

Clearly uncertain as to what she should do, Brienne stood by the fire, studying first her hands and then the floor. Jaime could tell she did not want to be here, he could tell that she was itching to simply pick up her sword and avenge Renly. He knew the signs all too well.

But now was not the time.

_In the middle of a keep, surrounded by soldiers loyal to Stannis. Now is most definitely not the time, but how can I convince Brienne of that?_

_She’s just as like to take one look at me, seize her sword and leave._

Jaime ruminated silently on the fact he disliked feeling so helpless in the face of Brienne’s determination to avenge another man. There was a rustling, banging noise as Pod picked over the few remnants of kindling left next to the fire before shaking his head.

“We need more wood,” he told them.

Both Jaime and Brienne turned to look at him as one, their combined attention enough to make Pod duck his head and concentrate on feeding the modest blaze the last of the available fuel once more.

“Well I thought you seemed very well received.” Brienne said the words as if they were forced from her, each one reluctantly uttered as she turned to face Jaime once more. Understandable, as after all, he was the interloper here, not her. For Brienne, these were the houses and allies of her father, of Tarth. This was where she should belong.

He raised his head slightly and squinted at her. “Are you jesting at my expense again wench? I cannot see your face clearly enough in this damnably bad light to tell.”

Brienne ducked her face down even further and muttered something under her breath that Jaime was hard pressed to understand the words to, so he settled for telling Brienne to speak up, and then looked at her from the corner of his eye as he attempted to get comfortable on the straw stuffed pallet.

“I know what you are planning to do, you know,” he told her. Brienne’s head snapped up in response to his words, and the eyes that met his showed not only a defensive anger but also vulnerability.

“I made a promise,” she finally replied.

At that point, Pod left the room, the door slamming shut behind him with a loud bang. The fire guttered as the bolt of air from the opened door made it clear across the room and blew a shower of sparks and embers against the stone wall opposite.

Brienne glowered at Jaime, clearly suspicious of his almost light-hearted tone. The past few weeks of travelling north from The Riverlands together had been most instructive on that particular front for Jaime. It had become part of his conversation to gently rile her without causing any lasting offence. It was not the sort of thing he would normally indulge in, but he had been very bored as they had travelled north, and Brienne’s dour demeanor had proved too much of a temptation to resist.

He couldn’t help a sigh as he said simply, “Don’t do it Brienne … not now.”

“I do not understand what you mean.” Brienne started to bluster slightly but stopped as soon as Jaime caught and held her gaze once more.

“I think you do. You have been watching Stannis like a dog watches a juicy bone.”

“I made a vow.”

Suddenly Jaime levered himself onto his elbows and turned to face her. His smile was gone and he studied her in silent contemplation, before saying, “A vow made to a dead man.”

“A man who is dead because he was killed by Stannis.” Brienne spoke slowly and clearly as if spelling something out to an individual of limited wit.

“Were you anyone else I would —

Whatever he was about to say was interrupted by Pod reentering the room with more fuel for the fire. Without speaking, Pod stomped across the width of the small chamber and dropped the fuel with a clatter.

Jaime sighed again and looked at the boy. “Ah, Pod. Just in time. Have you managed to glean anything more from our hosts? Did any of the sellswords within the camp manage to give you any information that we might find of use?”

Pod nodded. “One said there was much you should see to the west of the keep. A short ride to the river might be worth the taking, he said.”

Brienne’s white, freckled face gleamed in the flickering firelight. “Will there be anything else?” Her eyes slid over to where Jaime was lying. She glowered at him, clearly indignant at his attempt to interfere with what she clearly felt was her business and her business alone.

Jaime didn’t shake his head, instead he simply leaned forward and picked Oathkeeper up from where it had been placed against the mattress next to his own. Silently, he rested it on his lap before he looked up at a stiff-lipped Brienne, who had made a move towards the sword the moment she had realised what Jaime intended. It was a moment’s advantage that allowed Jaime the luxury of tucking the sword between the wall and the mattress beside him. “We shall be up early. You might want to settle down now and rest.” Incredulous, Brienne stared down at him as he leant across and tugged at the skirts of her white dress. “Take off the gown Brienne. It might be as well if you wear it tomorrow since it will suit our purposes well enough.”

Brienne scowled at him, yet her attention was caught. He could sense her reluctance to be distracted from the subject of Stannis, but her interest in his plans for the next day won out. To his amusement, both subjects seemed of more note to her than her modesty. “It will? How?”

Jaime sank back onto his mattress. “Trust me. Now do as I say or I’ll be forced to put this damn sword right under my covers and sleep on it in order to keep you — to get you to rest. Oh, and Brienne,” Jaime tugged a fold of her white skirts sufficiently hard to draw her attention back to her ill-fitting dress, “You could always ask Pod for one of my shirts.”

Brienne response was immediate, and seemed to consist of much unnecessary huffing and low voiced grumbling. Unfortunately, Jaime heard little of what she said as she was actually addressing his back for Jaime had turned over and closed his eyes, the barest hint of a smile on his face.

 


End file.
